


History is herstory, too.

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are trapped in history, and history is trapped in them. ~James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son</p>
            </blockquote>





	History is herstory, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Done for scarletladyy for the meet-up! Beta'd by blackestbird.

The house was empty, dark and abandoned for more than three years. No one had dared to go near it. They said it was surrounded by dark magic. The whispers as she walked towards it confirmed nothing had changed. The townspeople still as nosey, the gossip still as vicious, and the looks still as harsh.

Narcissa Malfoy was a woman full of pride, yet even she felt small in this town. She hadn’t been back since before she had been married. She lived in the manor now and she was proud of that fact, like so many other things in her life.

She wasn’t living in this town anymore, the same town that had driven her to near insanity; yet still better than 12 Grimmauld Place. That house was once somewhere where she felt truly at home, but since both her brother and sister had left, it had become somewhere where only hate resided, not love.

As she walked closer to the place she called home for the immediate years after Hogwarts, she remembered the days when her presence demanded respect, silence and even some adoration, but not now. Now, her face unrecognizable and her voice a pitch too high, the stress of her life showed in every aspect of her appearance.

With a heavy sigh, she put her hand into her pocket, closing it around the piece of paper inside, pulling it out before stopping at the large iron gate.

Her beautiful son waved and smiled back at her. He was eleven in the photograph. It was his first day at Hogwarts, and she could remember it clearly. He looked so happy in the photograph, but beneath the feigned happiness she knew of his worries. He was terrified about being sorted. The amount of pressure her husband had put on him was not acceptable; yet she was powerless to stop it.

She stepped forward, her hand hovering over the gate before she dropped it once more. She had no right to be here. She should be home, with her family, where she belonged.

Narcissa Malfoy may have changed, but she was still a Black at heart, and what mattered to a Black was family, always family.


End file.
